Changed
by injustice
Summary: A planned 13 part arc about ordinary people inheriting superpowers. My first fanfic, and I would love to hear some feedback on anything I can do to improve it. Future issues will have hero cameos from a variety of different comics.
1. Prologue The Event

CHANGED

_The series Changed is my idea of a superhero comic book. It is of my own creation, but certain parts of later issues (namely, product names and the mention of superheroes such as Batman and Superman) are quite obviously the property of other companies, and I will give credit when I come to it. As far as I know, this story is not taken from any other entity. I would love to hear reviews from anyone who happens to read this._

_Although the first couple of issues won't be all that action-packed (it really wouldn't fit, as you will see), as I go along, I hope for this series to get very action-oriented. Enjoy!_

Issue ½- The Event

Endless space. Billions upon billions of stars, planets and other celestial bodies tumbling through the black. Asteroids colliding, shattering into pieces; stars, finally dying out after untold years of service; the bluish-orange hue of the comet as it glides majestically along an unknown path. Unconnected, unimportant events, processes that span the many galaxies; events that the people of Earth rarely view, rarely even know they occur. In the grand scheme of things, these events have no presence in the lives of man. Save one.

The sun glows red in its final hours. Sparks of yellow flame dip out in wide arcs from the unstable surface. In minutes, the sun will exist no more, save for the explosion of energy that will emanate throughout the surrounding space, destroying everything around it. It is a quick death, abnormally quick for a supernova. The death is not natural; for the people on the small planet of Srilai, it is too late to flee, to attempt a remedy. Death will come almost instantaneously upon the destruction of the sun. Families will try to treasure every last second before the end comes, for, tears of sorrow and agony will be extinguished when Srilai is vaporized. Thousands of years of civilization will vanish in the blink of an eye. There will be no survivors.

We see dozens of scenes of the Srilain people in their last moments before the inevitable. Small groups huddled in prayer, hands joined together, seeking a savior. Husbands clutching their wives in tight embraces, taking in that warmth for the final time. Others, too frightened to think about the upcoming event, try to go about their normal lives; parents encourage their children to play and laugh before it is too late. Couples have sex for the last time, letting their bodies mold together, sweat and passion dripping off them; unknowing to some of these couples, babies are conceived through these acts, but they will never breathe the air, or see the light of the once majestic sun (which now grows ever closer to destruction).

Many world leaders sit stunned in their seats of power, now powerless to do anything to save their people; others are amazed at how insignificant their strifes with other nations seem. Still other Srilain's are unaware of their inevitable deaths; some sleep through the tragedy, while others simply read, oblivious to the chaos that runs rampant outside.

There is no sound when the sun explodes; the only sounds are the prayers of the fearful, the laughter of those enjoying their final breaths to the fullest, and the screams of the Srilain people when they see the blinding eruption of light quickly engulf everything in its path; stars are wiped out, lone asteroids are disintegrated, and the nearby moon Engara disappears, as though someone had drawn it and then (deciding it didn't belong in the sky) erased it with the quick sweep of a wrist. Nothing can stop the wall of light, and it quickly destroys everything in its path, storming past Srilai in an instant, and moves on to the remainder of objects in the galaxy.

Suddenly, as the wall evaporates an asteroid belt billions of miles away from Srilai (or the space where it once was) it stops. In a sudden, brilliant boom of red light that can be seen all over the universe, the wall dissipates, and there is nothing more. A once thriving galaxy is dead... but not quite completely.

Floating on the precipice of the galaxy, the creature watches its handiwork... and laughs.

**Upcoming issues and story arcs**:

Issue 1-4: "Sarah"- _The Carefree Life, Cured, Whatever is a Teenager to do? and The Savior_

Issue 5-8: "Liam"- _Losing Faith, Memorial, Into the Sky and Decisions_

Issue 9-12: "John and Chris"- _Changed, The Not So Dynamic Duo, Healing and Testing the Waters_


	2. Issue 1 The Carefree Life

Part One: "Sarah"

Issue 1- The Carefree Life

Sarah Townshend sits in her small bed, staring at her yellowish ceiling, counting the small holes on the surface. She is a young girl of fourteen, normally the age of vibrancy and energy, but Sarah is confined to her bed, stricken with a debilitating disease in her kidneys she has had since childhood. It was a disease that took her mother in the prime of life, leaving her dead on the kitchen floor among shattered dishes and spilled milk. Unfortunately, the six-year-old Sarah took up the difficult task of finding her mother's body, and it is an event that has strongly affected her. It is not uncommon for Sarah to drift into sleep only to encounter visions of her mother's corpse, hoarsely screaming at her for not saving her; for not being there in time.

These visions of the past that never occurred are unreasonable, of course, but Sarah cannot seem to push them from her mind. The nightmares leave her with little sleep to replenish her slowly dying body. A kidney transplant was preformed two years ago, and although that seemed to wipe out the spread of the virus, Sarah's body has begun to reject the transplanted kidney. A couple of years ago, a good day would be Sarah sitting outside with her father, drawing the plants and flowers in the park down the street; now, a good day was a vomit-free one. Unfortunately for Sarah, this wasn't a good day. Passing the time came slower and slower as the days went on, and if Sarah didn't start over every time she counted the holes on the ceiling, she had no doubt she would have a definite estimate of how many there actually were.

Michael Townshend slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor of his house, balancing the load of laundry he had just done on his knee. A towel on the top fell off and hit the stairs, floating down a few steps. Michael paused, staring behind him at the fallen towel, and decided it wasn't worth it. "Ah, I'll get it later," he said with a frustrated tone.

Frustration wasn't anything new in the life of Michael Townshend; if you asked him, he would say that his life was really a bunch of frustrations bunched together with a handful of peaceful moments. It wasn't always like this, of course; in fact, up until eight years ago, he couldn't find anything wrong with his life. A beautiful wife, a wonderful, vibrant child, and a fantastic job; everything a man could want. Now, he had trouble remembering the face of his beautiful wife (which is why he kept so many pictures of her around the house), he hadn't had his fantastic job in six years, and his daughter wouldn't be alive for much longer (not to mention she wasn't vibrant anymore). Life sucked, to put it simply.

He made his way up the rest of the stairs and placed the laundry on a cabinet to the right of the stairs. Michael knocked and pushed open the faded blue door of his daughter's room, moving in and sitting on a rocking chair (a chair that his wife, Danielle, had rocked Sarah to sleep when she was a baby); he looked at his daughter and tried his best forced smile.

"How are you today, sweetheart? Any better from this morning?"

"I'm fine, Dad. I've actually just came in from a 2K run." She smiled, and Michael laughed softly. It was hard for him not to cry when he saw her as she always was- trying to be as bright as possible in such a bad situation- it broke his heart every time. He looked at his daughter for a moment, and then realized that the television was not on. "What's this! My daughter not watching the Mets game! I'm stunned!"

Sarah gave that pale smile again. "They were rained out. Florida is having a huge storm or something."

"Ahh, I'm glad. I was starting to worry that you were sick or..." Michael paused, realizing what he had just said. "I'm sorry, sweetheart... that was stupid of me."

"It's fine Dad, I know what you meant. I'm probably gonna go to sleep in a while anyway... I'm kinda tired."

"Ok. I'll get out of your hair then." Michael got up and kissed his daughter on the head, flinching a bit at how cold her skin felt at his touch. He went around the bed and took a quick look to make sure that all of the equipment that monitored her was functioning properly. Confident that it was, he made his way back around the bed and looked at his daughter again before he left. "Sleep tight, Sarah."

"Night dad."

Michael shut the door behind him and went to put away the stack of laundry.

Michael ate his turkey and cheese sandwich, not really tasting it. The glass of whiskey next to his plate, on the other hand, he could taste quite clearly. Michael didn't drink on very many occasions, but when he did, he went all out. All he cared about was getting as drunk as he possibly could; he wanted nothing more than to get the image of his sickly daughter out of his head. He just couldn't stand seeing her that way, a fraction of what she once was. Memories of Danielle flooded back to him, none more prominent than the image of his six-year-old daughter kneeling in a puddle of milk next to his wife's lifeless corpse.

Michael began to cry softly, but he quickly wiped his tears away and finished what was left in his glass. He poured another sizable portion of the whiskey, and was about to take a large gulp when a shrill alarm rang out from upstairs. Michael looked around for a second, not quite sure what the noise was, when it finally hit him. Sarah!

He dropped the glass to the floor and pushed his chair away from the table hard. It clattered to the floor and he took off towards the stairs, taking two at a time as he ran up them. Michael ran and threw his shoulder against the door (not bothering with using the knob) shattering the frame. The door slammed open, and he ran over to his daughter. She was convulsing heavily, and he quickly took of his belt and placed it in her mouth, just in case she might accidentally bite her tongue.

Michael looked over at the gaggle of machines and noticed that Sarah's heartbeat was pulsing wildly. Moving fast, he ran to the telephone and called 911, frantically telling the woman who answered the situation and their address before hanging up and again moving to his daughter's side. He gripped her shaking hand tightly and spoke to her in a pleading tone. "Don't leave me Sarah! Please, God, don't take her away from me!"

The heartbeat monitor began to flash quickly, indicating that her heartbeat was going up drastically. Michael stared at it, unbelieving, not understanding how this all could be happening. "Come on Sarah, fight it dammit! You can make it! Don't let this thing beat you!".

Tears flooded down his face as Sarah flapped and struggled in her bed. Her eyes were rolled back into her head, and her breathing became very sharp, taking quick, long breaths. Michael looked desperately around the room, not knowing what exactly he should do; he looked at the monitor again and noticed her heartbeat was incredibly fast.

Sarah suddenly stopped convulsing, and the room fell eerily silent. Michael looked at the monitor, his heart freezing in his chest when he noticed the thin line running across the screen. Frightened, completely unaware what to do, he tried CPR, pushing down on her chest, trying to get some sort of a reaction. Michael wouldn't remember how long exactly he preformed this act when the paramedics arrived, but in fact, Michael spent seven-and-a-half minutes futilely trying to revive his daughter.

At the end of this, he slumped to the floor, horrified, as if he had just seen a murder. He wasn't that far off. In fact, he had just witnessed a death.

To be continued in Issue 2- Cured


	3. Issue 2 Cured

Changed

Issue Two- Cured

_Disclaimer--_

_This issue is in no way condoning suicide or anything to that effect. Furthermore, if you have suicidal feelings (not to sound preachy or anything) I would tell you to talk to someone about them, because nothing is worth taking your own life. Additionally, although this story is rated teen (and I think that T is a fair rating) some elements may be improper for younger kids (mainly the parts dealing with suicide). Anyway, This is Part Two of Sarah's Four-Part Story Arc. Enjoy!_

Michael stood in shock as one of the two paramedics ran past him up the stairs to try and save his daughter. As the other paramedic, a slightly balding man presumably in his mid-forties, asked him questions, he could only think of the horrifying situation he had just witnessed. The death of his daughter. Of his Sarah. It was inconceivable to him that the last good thing in his life had fallen away.

He had felt this feeling of emptiness before; the cold touch of death had gripped him when he found his wife, dead of a condition they had no clue she had; but, that situation was certainly different than the current one. He was spared having to see his wife die; he didn't have to witness her stop suddenly in the kitchen, dropping the things in her hands as her heart just stopped beating. Michael didn't have to see her collapse, didn't have to see her final breaths. Seeing someone die and finding them dead is a very different thing (as many can attest to), and Michael had been spared of seeing his wife die. Whatever force guided the course of fate, of life and death, had seen fit to spare Michael of such a horrifying experience. Unfortunately, that force had not granted him the same reprieve with his fourteen-year-old daughter.

Michael had seen the life exit his daughter; seen her eyes roll back into her head. Memories had flooded back to him, memories of her short life. Memories of their first vacation, an incredibly rainy and otherwise enclosed (for lack of a better term) week from hell; it was their best vacation as a family. Michael remembered watching his young daughter stare at the window at the downpour; watching the birds soar majestically through the air, frogs leaping from puddle to puddle. She had been so happy, so content at such a simple moment of nature. All the activities he and Danielle had planned (camping, going to the beach, watching the Fourth of July fireworks) were ruined, but Sarah didn't care a bit. Of course, she was only one-and-a-half at the time, but the joy on her face never failed to lift his spirits.

Michael would often look back on that moment during the past few years, when Sarah had gotten sick; it gave him hope that he would see her graduate high-school, see her graduate college, get married. A host of other things that doctors were doubtful she would ever see. Michael never listened, never let all those diagnoses diminish the faith he had that Sarah would get better. And when Sarah had finally gotten her transplant, he thought he had been right all along; there was that short period when Sarah could go to the park, go out with her friends... do things a normal young girl took for granted (but were all gifts for Sarah). "But the bastards were right," he thought. "Dammit, they told me all along and I didn't listen. They said she wasn't likely to get to her fifteenth birthday, and... she's dead, right upstairs. I let myself hope! And what has it gotten me! Nothing! Sarah is dead! Danielle is dead! I might as well be dead!"

Michael talked to the balding paramedic, but it was more of a mechanical response than anything. He just wasn't in the mood to talk; Michael wasn't in the mood to do much of anything... not anymore. Everything had been taken from him... everything that mattered to him was gone. Tears began to roll down his cheeks, and he was only vaguely aware of the paramedic putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

It was here that Michael decided nothing could ever comfort him; not his parents, not his relatives or friends. Nothing would ever be the same. He thought ahead quickly, of having to deal with the funeral; he would have to pick out a coffin, have to make appearances at a wake; Michael would have to greet people he really didn't want to see, not because he didn't like them, but because he wouldn't really be there. Just like his conversation with the paramedic in front of him, he really wouldn't be _there_. Michael would have to pay some ridiculous price to bury his daughter, give money for some over-priced coffin that her small body would be lain in; he would have to pay people to put make-up on her, to make her "presentable" so that people could shuffle up to an open coffin, most confused as to what they will say, what they will do. Sarah will cease to look like she once did; she will become a body, a life-less shell that doesn't even come close to matching what she was in life.

Michael would have to handle things he didn't want to think about, never thought he would do; in fact, it was something he never thought he should do. He wasn't quite sure, but he had heard once that "No parent should ever have to bury their child." And although he couldn't recall who had said it, or where he had heard it, he thought that, at this moment, there was no truer statement. Parents are simply supposed to outlive their children; they should watch them grow up with pride, watch them succeed where the parent had failed. And so, it was also here that Michael knew what he would do.

It was really quite simple to him... life just didn't mean anything anymore; not to mention, he didn't want to go through the rituals of death... not again. He could barely stand it when his wife's coffin was lowered into the ground; he almost broke down and cried out in agony when Sarah had walked over to the coffin, placing a small peach rose on the coffin (Danielle's favorites) and had said in a small voice: "Good-bye mommy."

Sarah had been so brave, so mature at that moment, and Michael had thought it wasn't fair; children should be allowed their innocence, their time when death is a far-away subject. No child should have to endure the death of a loved one, let alone a parent.

Michael knew he would end his life. He wasn't quite sure how he would do it, or when, but he knew that he could not live to see the weeks ahead; it just wasn't something he could see himself doing. He didn't want the pity of his family, of every co-worker he once had. Michael didn't want anything, save for his daughter. Nothing else would do. He was about to go more in-depth as to the situation of his impending suicide, but a sudden shout broke his train of thought.

"Jesus Christ! Tim! Get the hell up here! The girl's alive!"

Michael's head snapped toward the sound, as if he had been shot. The balding paramedic, apparently named Tim, quickly dropped the clipboard he had been writing Michael's responses on and ran up the stairs. Michael couldn't believe what he had heard... it was impossible, he must have heard wrong. He couldn't let himself hope... he couldn't put himself through that again.

"Wait," he thought "Yes you can... you know that man said Sarah was alive. She's alive! Not dead... you must have imagined it... maybe her pulse was so low you couldn't hear it. You aren't a doctor, after all."

"But the monitor," another voice in his head posed, "The monitor said she was dead. And she didn't look like she was breathing. Dammit, you even did CPR, and that didn't work!" Michael struggled with these conflicting emotions, trying to think. He thought he had heard that if a person was deprived of oxygen long enough, that they would suffer brain damage... maybe that was what happened to Sarah. Maybe she was just deprived for a bit, and now she is alive. Possibly brain dead, but alive.

Michael decided to let his optimistic side take over, and he rushed up the stairs. He reached Sarah's bedroom, the door already open, and rushed in. The two paramedics stood over the bed, on either side, so that Michael couldn't see Sarah. He moved to the foot of the bed and nearly fainted at what he saw.

Sarah was sitting up in bed. Her eyes were fully open, and she was letting the paramedics examine her. The one Michael hadn't really met was flashing a light in her eyes, and Tim was asking her questions. And, to Michael's surprise, she was answering them... so she wasn't brain dead. "Hi Dad." Sarah's sudden comment shocked him back to the present. She smiled that soft smile at him, and he gave it right back (although his was more of a mix of confusion and horror). "Are you ok," she asked him, and the irony of the comment made him laugh nervously.

"Am I alright? I thought you were... you looked... Oh my God..." Michael gripped the bureau behind him to avoid from fainting. This wasn't possible. Sarah had died, and he had gotten the front row seat. And now she was asking him if he was ok? It was surreal.

"Maybe its a dream," he thought. "Maybe I'm kneeling next to her now, holding her cold, dead hand, and I am just dreaming that she is fine. I am dreaming of Tim and this other guy, and none of it is real."

As if reading his thoughts, the paramedic with the flashlight turned and addressed Michael. "I can't begin to explain it, sir. Your daughter, for all intents-and-purposes, was dead. I checked her heartbeat... I did everything, and she was gone. I don't know what happened. I was up here for at least six, seven minutes, and she was dead. CPR didn't work, and neither did the paddles. But... but she is really alive." The young man of about twenty-five paused, looking at Sarah and then at a small cross that hung around his neck. "I'd have to say its a miracle."

Tim looked at his partner, the room quiet for a few moments, and then turned to Michael. "I can't explain what happened either, sir. According to your account and Tony's (obviously the other paramedic), Sarah was without oxygen for at least ten minutes. I have never seen anyone without oxygen for that long and still maintain proper brain functions. Sarah is either extremely lucky... or our stories are wrong... or we just... or we just witnessed a miracle. But, miracle or not, we need to take your daughter to the hospital for some tests and observation. We can't be sure she is out of the woods just yet."

Michael nodded absently, and continued to hold onto the bureau as Tony left the room, presumably to get something to move Sarah into the ambulance. He looked around the room, still trying to feel out whether or not this was all real, and then he turned to Sarah. She had that smile on her face, the same one from when she was one-and-a-half, and she didn't seem as pale as she had a few minutes ago (although looking back on it now, the past half-hour had seemed like an eternity).

"I really am ok, Dad," Sarah reassured, looking into the eyes of her still grief-stricken father. Michael went over to the rocking chair and sat down, contemplating what had just occurred. The flood of sorrow and anger, and just minutes ago, he had be thinking about the best method to commit suicide. "Jesus," he thought, burying his head in his hands. This all wasn't possible. Never a religious man, Michael never believed in miracles. At least not until tonight... he still wasn't sure if the night's occurrences were the result of some strange miracle, and when you got right down to it, Michael wasn't sure he cared.

His daughter was alive.

Upcoming: Issue Three- Whatever is a Teenager to Do?


End file.
